


In the Shadows the Wolf Queen Lies

by Kajat_k8



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya-centric, Badass Arya, F/M, Faceless Arya, Fix-It, Gen, Jon Snow is King in the North, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Other, POV Arya Stark, POV Gendry, POV Jon Snow, POV Sandor Clegane, Post Season 7, Season 8 hypothetical, What-If, season 7
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2019-10-29 23:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17817656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kajat_k8/pseuds/Kajat_k8
Summary: What if instead of Nymeria leaving Arya, Nymeria went with her, and she met up with the Brotherhood and went north, first to Winterfell then to Eastwatch. Because come on, Arya’s plotline was clearly like a week or two at most, and Jon’s was month's! Also, my fanfiction can afford direwolves, huzzah! Written with brevity in some chapters ~ 500 words, ~ 1000 words, ~ 2000 words, and ~3000+ words.Your standard fix it and my musings of what season 7 and 8 really should be along with all my crazy theories. A blending of Arya's and Gendry's ASOIAF plotline with other character's GoT story from the show. Primary relationship: Arya/Gendry, Arya/Sandor (father/daughter), Jon/Daenerys.





	1. Arya I

**Author's Note:**

> Arya and Gendry’s plot lines are from ASOIAF, Sandor Cleganes is a mix of Show and Book, but the rest is all show – that’s because let’s face it, Arya’s plotline was really stale – it could have been so much better if they’d shown them actually trying to get her to her family, but instead they were captured and the trial for The Hound happened, one-two done. So cheap. The rest is show cannon.
> 
> So – in this ‘universe’ Gendry joined the Brotherhood and was knighted after the attack on the Septry – but then was sold to Melisandre, and Arya ran away a day later – like in the show.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya meets a deadly familiar face.

**Arya**

Arya sat thinking of home and attempted to warm her hands over the fire, Hot Pie’s words rang through her head – Jon Snow was King in the North, and won Winterfell back from the Boltons. Her spotted mare nickered and whined as she lapsed into nostalgia.

She looked up as the horse dug at the ground. Something was wrong, she looked around and listened with all her trained senses. She realized that someone was watching her as twigs cracked. She spun around, standing she grabbed her sword belt, drawing Needle out. She turned and almost gasped.

She was surrounded by wolves, on every side with no escape. They stood there growling, snarling and baring teeth, but none approached. She tried to keep them all in view but it was impossible. Suddenly a deeper growl issued behind her and she turned; as she did so she was faced with the largest wolf she’d ever seen. No, not a wolf, a _direwolf_.

She brandished Needle, but as she looked into those golden amber eyes, she realized, this wolf was familiar.

“Nymeria?”

Nymeria growled and snarled, so Arya set down her sword before approaching with a hand held out.

“Nymeria it’s me, Arya. I’m heading North girl. Back to Winterfell, I’m finally going home.”

Nymeria stopped growling and looked her up and down, evaluating her with eyes that were seeing more than just a mere base animal would. “Come with me, there’s war coming and you’ll be needed.”

Nymeria looked at her, not breaking eye contact. After what seemed like moons had passed, but could only have been a moment – the direwolf blinked. She approached the outstretched hand, sniffing at it, finally nuzzling into Arya.

“Come with me,” Arya said as she tentatively stroked her wolf’s snout.

Nymeria turned her head and issued two short barks, half of the wolves took off running, the others slipped slowly back into darkness, but Arya could feel them, lurking just outside her vision.

She felt a hum through her body and reached out to Nymeria this time, not just with her hand. She _was_ the wolf, just as she always had been in her dreams. And yet, Arya realized, they hadn’t been dreams. They were real, and had always been real. She was within her wolf.

She stood there as Nymeria, but she was staring at herself, looking at Arya, with Arya’s eyes looking back at her. Arya’s irises were white, and her stature seemed shorter from the direwolf’s perspective. She felt the cold ground beneath her feet, and the scents in the air. The prey that stood nearby continued to whicker but the girl in Nymeria’s mind said clearly, _not_ _food_. Nymeria acknowledged that, albeit begrudgingly. The girl in the wolf realized that the pack was hungry, so she sent Nymeria off to hunt, but instructed her to return afterwards. The girl withdrew back into her own body, watching as Nymeria fled.

Arya smiled, feeling extremely powerful. She had a part of herself back again, a part of home with her, and she would use it to take back what was hers.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 516 words – 9 May 2018. Edit 22 Aug 18.
> 
> Let me know if you like it, or hate it, comments of any kind keep me writing. Thanks!


	2. Arya II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya reconnects with Nymeria and slips into all of her wolves, learning to become a true skinchanger. She spots a group of men on top of a hill and goes to investigate.

**Arya**

Arya was temporarily derailed from her trip North when she reunited with Nymeria, where she spent a week in the Riverlands. With the Freys now gone from the Twins and Riverrun; bandits frequently ran rampant. And to top it all off, the Lannister army spread out in an attempt to keep the peace. But there would be no peace; as she picked off Lannister men one by one and her wolves gorged themselves.

By day Arya would walk amongst them, gaining their trust she would touch each wolf in turn. She’d also learned to slip into them as she went. She counted thirty-two of them in all. She’d learned their names, their moods, their cares, likes and dislikes. For this was her pack, her family, and she was nothing if not loving and protective of her family.

At night she would run with them, two wolves would guard her body and her mare, and she rotated her guards daily. But, the rest would hunt and devour the men who wore dead pelts and carried steel claws.

Yet, despite it all, she couldn’t let Nymeria and her pack set upon Lann, Wolly, Devyn, Sheeran, Tydd, Tagg or Wyl. The men who’d been so kind to her and shared their rabbit. When Arya sensed them, Nymeria backed away. Arya was torn, but Nymeria was resolved and she kept them safe. Somehow the wolf understood emotions that the girl could not.

But the rest – all soldiers and bandits that prowled, those were prey. They were hunted, terrorized and overwhelmed. Their strength added to her pack.

Arya reveled in it.

In Braavos she’d stolen moments within her direwolf as she lay sleeping and had to hide what she was. Hide the thrill, the feelings, and the happiness of being free but in the Riverlands she was running with her family.

But she soon realized that this wasn’t all of her family.

_Our brother, we must go to our brother,_ the girl told Nymeria in her skin.

_Her silent brother?_ Nymeria asked.

_Yes, her silent brother, and other brothers too, if they still lived._ The girl didn’t know, but she would find them, and add them to her pack. Call them family. Hunt and run with them. Howl with them at her heels.

Nymeria agreed and lifted her head to the moon and howled her vow. Her pack took up the song, and the night was shattered with the song of wolves.

It had been too long since she had been with her silent brother. He’d always been quiet, but she wanted him something fierce. None in her pack were her equal and she wished for one desperately.

_Soon,_ the girl within the wolf whispered, _soon._

Nymeria caught the scent of death and men traveling towards a high hill. _Prey_. Men with fires, mounted prey, cold dead fur and steel claws. She howled again to bring her pack into formation.

Nymeria stalked forward and the girl thrilled and hummed within her. Silently they walked up to the camp. Nymeria’s blood singing, they would feast again tonight, and her pack would grow. The men were completely unaware of her presence. Silent as the shadow she cast – she stalked towards them.

But then the girl within Nymeria caught sight of them and three of their number gave her pause. One was tall, very tall for mankind. Tallest she’d ever seen. And he wore a yellow cloak. _That’s not right…_ the girl within the wolf thought. _The man who’d worn that cloak wasn’t so tall._ Nymeria slunk forward, her little cousin’s shadows on her heels, but in the moonlight, they made no sound. She sniffed.

One of them held the faint smell of death around him. More so than any man she’d ever smelt that was alive. _I know him,_ the girl whispered to the wolf. _I know him._

_Pack?_ Nymeria asked.

_Mayhaps,_ was all the girl said.

Nymeria sniffed again and there were man smells aplenty, but there were two others that were different. One smelt old, of ashes, burnt and fiery. Nymeria balked at that, _enemy_ she screeched to the girl. _Enemy and prey._ But the girl within her stilled and took another sniff of the air. The other man… he smelled familiar, he was dirty and covered in another’s clothes and yet, the underlying scent didn’t lie. Nymeria’s nose didn’t lie – _pack._

Nymeria told the girl within herself firmly: pack, _not_ food.

The girl was confused but Nymeria turned and fled. Her shadows following her as silently as they’d come.

 

* * *

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 755 words - 10 May 2018. Edit 22 Aug 18
> 
> Let me know if you like it, or hate it, comments of any kind keep me writing. Thanks!


	3. The Man in the Yellow Cloak I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya meets an old friend and several enemies.

**The Man in the Yellow Cloak**

The men in the camp switched the watch, uneasily staring out over the hill. Behind them thirty one stumps of weirwood trees stood silent, irresolute in the darkness. Far off there was the cry of wolves, but no other sounds or movement came from the dark.

Yet within, the camp shifted and grumbled.

“Those fucking wolves again. Howling, always howling.” The man wearing a yellow cloak said.

“For a hard man you scare easily,” the man in a red cloak said smirking.

“I’m not scared, you bald cocksucker. I just can’t sleep with all their racket.”

A man with one eye turned from the flames to glance over at the tall man in the yellow cloak. “Come sit by the fire Clegane, if you can’t sleep. Let us share a story.”

Clegane grumbled and growled, but nonetheless rose from his bedroll and stepped towards the fire before taking his seat near the cyclops.

“You gonna tell me a bedtime story Beric? Do I look a child to you?” Clegane sneered.

“No, I feel that we’re far past the time of children. But we can converse all the same. Perhaps it is you who should tell us a tale,” Beric said nonplussed by the man’s cold words.

Another howl sounded, this one seemed closer and yet, somehow saddened.

Clegane growled. “There they go again.”

“So? No harm can come to those on High Heart. Why don’t you drown out their howls with a story of your own? Come on Clegane, you’re a _hound_. You shouldn’t be so frightened of a mere wolf.” The man in the red cloak smirked.

Clegane sighed, but eventually started up a story.

“Once upon a time, a man had one friend. Then the day came when his friend was murdered. As the man grabbed an axe to take vengeance and kill the fuckers who’d murdered his friend, he found a band of men hanging all three of the murderers for their crimes. He took two of the three deaths for himself and for some reason stayed with the fucking idiot band. They liked fire, and he hated them. The end.”

At the conclusion of his tale the man named Beric and the man in the red cloak laughed. Clegane scowled.

“If only Tom were here to get it all down,” the man in the red cloak said.

Beric smiled at his friend. “A song for the ages, to be sure.”

Another howl came from their left, and this one sounded almost atop them.

“I spent a year in the fucking Riverlands with a she-wolf, and never did I hear this many wolves crying in the night.” Clegane spat angrily staring into the fire.

“Maybe you weren’t listening,” a voice eerily said from behind him.

Clegane swiftly turned to the left and right, unsure if he had heard the voice or imagined it. He looked to his two companions in askance.

“Did you…?” Beric inquired.

All three men flipped around and stared off into the darkness. It was clear they heard the voice, however, the fire made them night blind. So they stood and strode from it towards the voice.

“Maybe your she-wolf kept the real wolves away.” The eerie voice spoke again.

The men looked to each other, Sandor looking the most frightened, the other two determined to meet their fate.

Slowly, a deep low growl, followed by the largest wolf any of them had ever seen emerged from shadow. It continued to raise its head, adding to its height, and it seemed more and more massive. Fear crept through the camp, taking hold of each man in their midst.

A paw stepped forward and slowly the entire wolf materialized from the darkness. In the low light it appeared massive, grey, and snarling. Clegane felt certain that his impending death stood before them. Great, this time not a fucking woman but torn apart by a wolf. What a bad way to go...

As the wolf stepped into the light, several other smaller wolves started to appear, flanking them. The men were surrounded—and there would be no escape.

“No fucking harm, eh?” He asked.

The red cloaked man said, “This is not the day I die.” But Beric remained silent.

“Seen that in your flames have you, Thoros? Then maybe you should look again,” Clegane said as he drew his sword. All the men who gazed at the wolves held fear in their eyes. All of the men prayed it wasn’t the end, but as it was clear from their faces, they couldn’t see a way beyond that particular fate.

Tens of golden, brown and red wolf eyes slowly blinked their way into existence, more wolf bodies forming out of darkness.

“Maybe your wolf-bitch wants to see what wolves do to hounds…” The bodiless voice teased.

The man in the yellow cloak faltered and lowered his sword. He took a tentative step forward.

“Clegane!” Thoros and Beric said together as they reached for him.

However he acted as if he hadn’t heard them. Recognition tickled his mind – he _knew_ that voice, and the words it spoke. With his mouth half open, he dropped his sword on the ground and continued to walk towards the immense wolf. He considered it again, it was only a head shorter than he was. It wasn’t a wolf. It was a _direwolf_. Realization suddenly hit the man swiftly, like a punch to the gut.

Unsteady on his feet, he asked, “Arya?”

A high laugh called to him, and it was followed by the howls, barks and snarls of wolves that surrounded them, each one echoing the voices mirth. Within those howls a young woman emerged. She was small in stature, the direwolf stood well above her. She was dressed darkly in a man’s garb, wearing a thin sword on her belt, a fur lined cloak and chainmail gambeson. She possessed a long face with dark features and cool grey eyes, her hair half pulled back in a knot.

Giggling she curtsied and mockingly named him, “Father.”

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it, perhaps he needed to make sure it was in fact a ghost standing before him. Or perhaps he truly believed that she had lived. It had been his one and only dying wish, that she remain alive, despite leaving him for death. Perhaps he was crazed—because before he realized what he was doing, he held her in his arms. And he held on tight. Around him the wolves swarmed and jumped and howled, crying jubilantly into the air. But he wasn’t afraid. She was alive – and somehow he was _home_.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1105 words – 10 May 2018. Edit 22 Aug 18.
> 
> Let me know if you like it, or hate it, comments of any kind keep me writing. Thanks!


	4. Arya III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya meets Thoros and Beric again. Nymeria makes a decision.

**Arya**

Arya wasn’t sure who was encamped on High Heart. She definitely didn’t know whom Nymeria considered pack that could be trolling around the Riverlands. But she was very curious to investigate.

She had been most perplexed to find the Brotherhood without Banners and even more startled to find Sandor Clegane amongst them. The last she had seen him meet with the Brotherhood, they’d thrown him into a trial by combat, and after he’d won and been burned, they’d stolen all his gold and sent him off with nothing but their mercy.

She wasn’t sure what would happen when she revealed herself but felt justified in scaring them just a little. The Brotherhood had been planning to sell her after all – like a common slave during the War of the Five Kings.

But when she saw Sandor Clegane – someone whom she had left for dead – she wasn’t sure what to do or how to feel. She hadn’t been prepared to come face to face with him again. In that moment she wasn’t Arya, or No One—she was just a scared little girl—a frightened mouse in Harrenhal once more. She was fighting to survive with only a brutal Hound at her back–with all his lessons in mind.

Maybe that’s why she’d mockingly called him ‘Father.’ It’d seemed appropriate since they’d posed as father and daughter so many times during their travels. It sounded strange, yet, was a familiar quip. Stab him while he was down, but he didn’t recoil or even respond. Instead, he had a pained look on his face. And she’d realized belatedly that it was _relief_.

She thought when he saw her in that moment that he would be angry at her for leaving him, that he would want to murder her... Take his revenge. She never fathomed that he would hug her. And she froze within his embrace.

She thought she would’ve hated his touch, but was slightly appalled to find herself smiling and happy. So instead, she reveled in the feeling. That feeling of relief, of _familiarity_ . He was _glad_ that she was alive. And to her surprise, she was just as glad that he was as well. After realizing that, she lifted her arms and returned his embrace with equal vigor.

Shaken from her musings she said, “I see you didn’t die despite my best efforts.”

He made a strange sound like a laugh but more somber and strangled somehow, and she felt a knot in her stomach twist painfully. “You lasted longer than I’d‘ve thought as well.”

He pulled back and looked her over, taking her all in.

“You’ve grown,” was all he said after a moment of intense scrutiny. The unsaid words of ‘older and wiser’ seemed to be implied.

“I’m not a child anymore.”

“Am I still on your list?” He asked cocking his head to the side.

She thought about this. About all she’d said to Jaqen and the Waif. She’d been confused back then, when she’d left him. However, if she was being honest with herself, she’d removed him from her list many days before she’d left him.

“No, you’re not,” she replied honestly. She looked up to him, and studied his face. A face that she’d known fairly well when they’d traveled. It was still just as hardened as it had been before with the scars on his cheek, and the new lack of most of an ear on both sides. And yet, somewhere within his face, his eyes especially, radiated a sadness that she hadn’t seen before.

She didn’t like seeing those eyes turned towards her, and her stomach tightened again, so she turned and took in his companions. Both of them seemed at a loss for words. They were afraid. That much was clear by the whites of their eyes and their looks of abject horror, obvious even in the dim light as they took her in and her wolves besides. “But these two are. Tell me, _Father_ , should I take them off my list tonight?”

Sandor Clegane beheld a savage look, and suddenly she felt unclean. It was as if he could see her down to her foundations, down to what made her, Arya. “They don’t deserve to be on your list anymore than I do.”

She looked back at them, anger washing over her, and then back to him. “Really? These two, who wanted to sell me, like a common slave? With no regard to what I wanted, or what would happen to me during the war? These two who sold their own ‘brother,’ my last friend–my only _family_ —when all others of my family had been murdered before my eyes, to a red woman to be murdered?!?”

She hadn’t intended to shout, but as she spoke, she grew angrier and it just slipped out. She’d not thought of Gendry in a long time. The memories of him had been too painful. He’d protected her, and she had protected him. He’d been with her through some of the worst times in her life. And still, he’d wanted to remain by her side. Until them. Until the gods forsaken Brotherhood. Then they’d seduced him away from her, and repaid his faith with treachery.

“The boy’s alive girl,” Thoros said.

She turned to Thoros and evaluated him. She could tell from his tone of voice and his face that he thought he was telling a truth. But, he might have learned to tell a lie, the same as she. She didn’t trust him or believe him.

“So because you didn’t succeed in murdering him, despite the attempt, I should just forgive you? Let you live?”

Her wolves around her echoed her wrath and started to growl, raising hackles.

“If you kill us it will be because the Lord wills it, but just know that the boy lives.” Beric said.

“How do I know that’s true?” She asked placing a hand on Nymeria to still herself. The wolves followed suit and became silent once more, but several were still baring teeth.

“We’ve seen him in the flames,” Thoros replied.

“Burning?” She asked. It was an honest question, she’d not known all that much about the Red God when she’d first met the Brotherhood in the Riverlands, but she was wiser now. They were always burning something or someone in Braavos as a sacrifice or a humble offering. It’d annoyed several friends of hers to always be burning, and she wondered what sort of god required such destructive offerings from its followers. But hope tingled in her belly, he was alive? She hadn’t had any hope left, once she learned of the Red God. She knew instantly that he’d become a sacrifice on some pyre. The needlessness of it all and her inability to protect him had angered her.

“No, he has a part to play in the war to come.” Thoros replied.

She cocked her head to the side and evaluated them, she could always kill them later she supposed... Their death was really up to Gendry, if he still lived. However, to further scare them, she decided to let Nymeria decide their fate. “What do you think girl?” She asked her wolf.

Nymeria took that opportunity to step forward and walked up to the two men while they took a collective breath inwards. She nosed around them for a moment, spending more time on Beric rather than Thoros. Arya slipped into her for a moment, but she didn’t get any more information being inside Nymeria’s skin than she had before. Thoros still smelled burnt and Beric had the faint scent of death lingering about him. However, she knew that Nymeria had understood Sandor’s words, they didn’t deserve death. With winter coming, that was more than most would receive. She slipped back out and eventually Nymeria turned away from them.

“If Nymeria can’t find a reason to kill you, I suppose I won’t either.” The tension that held the two men straight as boards seemed to dissipate.

Then Nymeria turned and bounded for Sandor, jumping and licking his ears. Arya laughed.

“Seems _this_ is what wolves do to hounds. How anticlimactic.”

Sandor seemed surprised for a moment and he looked queerly between Arya and the wolf before reaching out a tentative hand and petting her. A low rumble came from Nymeria as he pet her and she jumped down and rubbed her head along his knees.

The rest of the wolves started to follow her lead, and Sandor looked stricken.

“What’s the meaning of this girl?” He growled out.

Arya just laughed at his terrified face, she knew he was in no danger. However, before he could do something drastic, she had to explain.

“Nymeria identified you as pack, they’re memorizing and imprinting your scent.”

“How do you know that they’re not just trying to figure out the best way to rip me to shreds?” Sandor asked, clearly overwhelmed.

He looked critically at the wolves surrounding them, they were swarming and rubbing at him their heads on his knees. It must be a rather odd experience Arya thought if one couldn’t slip into their skin to discern their motivations. She’d have to try to explain it better.

Arya laughed again, “Because, she’s not. She’s identified you as pack. She figured out who you were before I did. Now she’s telling her little cousins, too.”

He looked down again as one of the smaller wolves started to lick his fingers and he twitched. A part of Arya wanted to giggle, but she mastered the impulse.

“Pack?” He asked.

“Family,” she clarified.

He looked like he was going to say more, but at that moment Nymeria threw her head back and howled. All thirty-two other wolves joined her and soon, every single one of the Brotherhood’s camp was up, tripping over blankets and reaching for weapons. Yet, something stayed their hand and no man raised weapons at Arya or her wolves, they all just stood mesmerized by the otherworldly sight.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1663 words - 15 May 2018. Edit 22 Aug 18.
> 
> Apologies for the late posting. I had lots of technical difficulties this week.
> 
> Let me know if you like it, or hate it, comments of any kind keep me writing. Thanks!


	5. Sandor II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and the Brotherhood sit around a fire with Nymeria + Co.’s howls bring out an old face.

**Sandor**

It took a bit before the camp had settled down again. After the wolves serenaded them, most of the camp had been on edge and reaching for weapons. But Beric and Thoros had told them to stop, and Clegane was surprised that the Brotherhood had listened. He wasn’t sure if he would have, looking into the eyes of all those wolves, if he hadn’t known Arya as he did. Then again, Thoros had said the Old Gods moved strongly atop High Heart. Gazing at Arya and her wolves, he could believe that.

He wasn’t sure what was queerer, seeing Arya again after all these years, or seeing her leading a pack of wolves. Because it was clear to him that while the small wolves followed the larger direwolf, named Nymeria, all of them took orders from Arya.

“I’ve sent them to patrol, they’ll make sure we’re safe.”

After retrieving her own mount and tying it up with the others, she seated herself next to him at the fire and pulled a wineskin from under her cloak, handing it outwards to him in offering. He took a pull and found it to be a rich, strong-bodied red, finer than any random skin he was used to finding in the Riverlands. He eyed her curiously taking in her cloak and clothes as well, which were also finely made. 

“How do you know that? How do you control them?” He asked as he took another drink.

Arya just shrugged, but Beric looked at her and asked, “Do you know what you are?”

Clegane thought that was an odd question. She was a girl, albeit a strange one, but a girl nonetheless. Although, he supposed he should amend that to woman as he took in her obvious curves that graced her body. She was still short, but her swell of hips and the obvious bulges in her tunic spoke to their years apart.

“Yes,” she replied.

“What is she?” Clegane asked.

“A skinchanger.” Beric replied.

“Thought those were just fucking stories.”

To everyone’s surprise Thoros responded, “Within every story lies a hint of truth. I met a few before I came to court. Many skinchangers live with the wildlings beyond the Wall, I believe most are used as scouts. But still, it’s a very rare talent.”

“Old Nan used to say that all the First Men had the ability, it’s in our blood.”

“Not all do, only one in a thousand have the gift.” A voice whispered through the dark.

Clegane turned and reached for his dagger, but a hand from Arya on his forearm prevented him from drawing it out.

“How many more fucking people are going to creep up on us tonight at this  _ safe _ hill?” He growled.

A tiny and shriveled dwarf woman approached their fire and spoke. “It was the smell of death that woke me, but the sound of wolves that called me to you. You are cruel Lightning Lord to bring the Dark Heart back here. And why have you come Skinchanger?”

Clegane was surprised that anyone could live atop this hill, he saw no home or cottage and its space was vast and empty. Yet, he was even more stunned that it was Arya whom she addressed.

“Same as your dead lord, I expect. I’ve come for your dreams Ghost, and I’ve wine and a song for you if you like.”

Clegane eyed Beric and Thoros. He hadn’t known that they were here to meet anyone in particular, but he had no time for daft old crones and even less time for dreams.

“What nonsense are you talking girl?” Clegane asked. But Beric and Thoros hushed him and Arya snapped, “Quiet.” 

The old woman reached out and Arya pulled another wineskin from under her cloak. The woman drank deep, “Fine wine. I fear I’ll not taste summer again.” She took another drink and then gave Arya a cold look.

“I’ve seen you in my dreams often, the Wolf Queen with the Dark Heart. Always stalking me and crying for blood. I dreamt you slayed a black hanged man, stabbed out his eyes and his body and when you slipped off his face, I woke screaming in terror. I dreamt you blind and beaten in a faraway land, left surrounded in darkness. I dreamt you seduced a blood soaked lion, yet you slashed him open before he touched you and you threw him in the sea. I dreamt of a Rat Cook drowning two great twins in a ocean of wine. Are these the dreams you want to hear?”

Beric, Thoros and Clegane listened to her intently, but Clegane’s expression darkened. The woman only spoke in riddles, and he couldn’t make out what she meant. But nonetheless, her words frightened him. Somewhere his brain was whirling trying to work out what she’d said. 

“I’d rather hear about the dreams I’ve not yet lived to witness.” Arya replied.

“You’re cruel to come to me and to fill me with your grief and death. I want none of it, you hear me? Your song is dark, full of ice and fury and blood and fills me up with sadness. I will sleep better when you are gone from here.”

She took another long deep drink and Clegane thought that she’d rebuffed them and would speak no more when she began again:

“I dreamt an army of darkness, Others and death marching in snow striding past a hole in a Wall made of ice. An army that doesn’t eat, sleep or know warmth and only craves to feast upon the living. When I first saw it I whimpered, they will come for everyone and everything and no one can stop them. I dreamt a golden bull surrounded by ice who wields a hammer crafting a mighty sword in a dragon’s shadow. I dreamt that the Last Hero turned into a Three-eyed Raven and together flew with a fat archer to discover the Prince who was Promised. I dreamt of a dragon crowned in blue winter roses, hiding in the shadow of a great wolf who howled his cries to the wind, but though many heard, none responded to his pleas. Yet, still he cries each and every night, I can hardly sleep for the clangor. Not unlike your wolves Dark Heart. Is this what you want to hear?”

Arya seemed to contemplate that before answering, “Yes, have you any more dreams?”

“The great wolf will come and slay the Others, but not before he loses a wolf of his own. I dreamt of a  dragon burning armies, brothers and fathers, archers and lions, such a fire history has seen but once before. I dreamt a maid falling into the shadow of a mockingbird with black evil and poison dripping from his talons. I dreamt a mad lion scheming with a drowned crow with seaweed hanging from his wings, his heart almost as dark as yours. I dreamt of a band of men seeking death in the cold and snow and they find it upon a lake where they slay a dragon. I dreamt a man coming to find you Dark Heart, a man wreathed in shadow with no face, but when he stepped into the light he becomes a great silver prince. You shall meet him where Winter will fall once more.” 

Clegane was becoming annoyed, none of what the old woman had said made any sense to him, and he didn’t want to hear such nonsense. It seemed just the same as Thoros’ visions in the flames. And he hadn’t liked that one bit, and yet he found himself drawn in and traveling north all the same.

“A silver prince, you’re sure?” Arya said frowning. Clearly the dwarf’s daft musings made sense to her.

“The dreams don’t lie Dark Heart, not like you with your words and actions. Now give me my song and be gone.” The woman said as she finished the wineskin with two long swallows and tossed it towards Arya.

To add to his confusion Arya picked up the skin and started singing a song he vaguely had heard once or twice before. It was a song about Jenny of Oldstones and some dragonfly. It was sad and sweet and she sang it beautifully. Of all the things that she’d done in the years since they’d parted ways, he hadn’t imagined even for a second that she would have been singing. He wondered briefly if she’d always been a singer when she was off in Winterfell, but somehow doubted it. She never was a lady, it had been his Little Bird who had loved the songs.

When Arya finished her song the woman stood and slipped back into the darkness, disappearing almost at once. 

“The fuck was that all about? Wolves and Dragons?” Clegane asked.

“The weirwoods speak to her in her dreams,” Arya said.

“Nonsense.” Clegane scoffed.

“She knew of the Red Wedding before it happened,” Arya said.

Clegane looked to Beric and Thoros. “It’s true, though I don’t know how she does it, she has a way of knowing things that are happening or will come to pass all around the realm.” Beric said.

“You believe that?” Clegane asked of Beric and Thoros. When they nodded he looked to Arya for confirmation.

“She’s one of the Children.” Arya said simply.

“Children?” Clegane said, “She looks an old dwarf to me.”

“She’s one of the Children of the Forest, I thought they’d all died out, but here she is.” Then she turned to Beric and Thoros, her face serious, “There was an awful lot of talk of wolves, but not all her dreams were about myself it seems. And what of the two Princes she spoke of? Only queens rule now, and my brother. None have children as far as I know.” 

“The Prince who was Promised is a legend of Azor Ahai. An old tale, thousands of years gone, of how a hero ended the Long Night with a flaming sword and woke dragons from stone.” Thoros said. 

“The Dragon Queen then? But she’s not a Prince.” Arya asked.

Thoros just shrugged. 

“Did Anguy get fat?” Arya asked.

“Anguy died, ‘bout two years back,” Beric said.

“Well, then do you know of any Three-eyed Ravens?” Arya asked.

“No, though I have seen the Raven in the flames.” Thoros said. 

“Hmm…” Arya trailed off, clearly deep in thought. “And what of the silver prince?”

Thoros and Beric shook their heads and she looked over to Clegane. He shook his head at first, but then slowed and eventually stopped. Some long forgotten memory nudged at him. “Only Prince I ever heard referred to as ‘Silver’ would be Rhaegar Targaryen,” Clegane said.

At this Arya only frowned and Clegane looked at Beric and Thoros who seemed to be contemplating the old woman’s words as well. “Rhaegar Targaryen crowned my aunt Queen of Love and Beauty at the great tourney in Harrenhal with blue winter roses… I suppose Lyanna could be the crying wolf… But why would she dream of that, a tournament more than twenty years ago?”

Again Arya fell into silent contemplation but then an idea struck her, “Were any of you there?”

Beric laughed, “Alas no, I was but five at the time.”

Thoros also said no, “I hadn’t left for Westeros yet, I was still in Volantis.”

So Arya turned to look at him next. He sighed, “Aye, I was there. But I don’t remember much, I was only a boy of ten. My father had wanted to find me a great lord to squire for, but none liked the look of me.”

“Were you there when Lyanna was crowned?” She asked.

It had been a long time since he’d thought of the Great Tournament at Harrenhal. His hopes had been high that a lord would take him in. He hoped that someone could get him away from his damned brother. His father too had seemed so sure of that fact himself. He was a tall boy and strong, it was said he would make a great knight. But then he’d been rejected summarily by all the lords his father approached. And then he’d heard one of the lords speaking about him to one of his vassals, about what a beast he was to gaze upon, and how he’d never be more than a mad dog. He’d grown dangerously angry then: at his brother, his father, even his mother. He’d wanted to drink himself stupid for the unfairness of it all. And so that’s what he’d done, he awoke the next day in a bush with the worst hangover he’d ever had. But Rhaegar crowning Lyanna was all anyone had spoken of afterwards. 

“I was, but I was off somewhere, drunk in a bush. I heard about it afterwards.” She looked thoughtful for a moment but then resumed her analysis of the old dwarf woman’s musings and the fire.

Arya scoffed, “Helpful as ever I see.”

Clegane huffed at this. Thinking back on it, he remembered the Stark girl. She’d been the talk of the Tournament, even before she’d been crowned. It wasn’t often that the great lords of the realm married off their children. And yet, Lyanna and Robert had been betrothed. But Clegane had always thought that odd, he’d seen Lyanna clutching a shield with a weirwood on it. And that same shield had caused quite a stir at the tournament. He turned back to Arya, and it was like he was looking at a ghost once more. But this ghost wasn’t dead, she was very much alive. And he meant to keep it that way.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  2273 words – 16 May 2018. Edit 22 Aug 18. Edit 6 May 2019. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the kind reviews in my absence. Sorry about that. I had intended to keep writing and posting every week or so, but that always becomes ambitious when my field season really kicks off. But I'm definitely still working and planning on continuing. 
> 
> Let me know if you like it, or hate it, comments of any kind keep me writing. Thanks!


	6. Arya IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya contemples the Ghost of High Hearts words and attempts to figure out what the future holds with Thoros, Beric and Sandor. Part of Arya's story comes out.

**Arya IV**

Arya continued to contemplate all that the Ghost had said. All this talk of Princes… she didn’t like it, that or the howling of wolves. She could do without that. She’d found her long lost direwolf that she’d abandoned all those years ago and her pack. She wouldn’t gamble with their lives. They meant more to her than any tangible _Prince_ . She hoped that the wolves weren’t her family or her own pack, but it was impossible to tell. However, there were some parts of the Ghost’s dreams that she _could_ latch onto and understand.

She’d known only of one bull who wielded a hammer and he’d been her only friend on the road all those years ago. Could he really be alive somewhere? Was he somehow in the shadow of a dragon? But no, she’d also said that he was surrounded by ice. Did that mean that he was up north then? She almost laughed at that. He wouldn’t join her trueborn brother, but she had little doubt that he would feel fine joining her bastard brother. She could see his screwed up face in contemplation or almost hear his logic that somehow her bastard brother was the better option.

She shook her head from those thoughts and returned to the rest of the dreams.

“I only know of one mockingbird,” she said looking at Beric and Thoros.

“Lord Petyr Baelish married your Aunt before she died and became Lord Paramount of the Vale in all but name.” Thoros said.

“So he’s in the Vale then?”

“I’m not sure My Lady, there’s been little news from the Vale since they’ve stayed clear of the War of the Five Kings.” Beric said.

“Well, we know that the dead are marching on the Wall that much is clear.” Thoros said.

“Aye, but we already knew that.” Beric said.

“It’s true then, not just rumors?” She asked the men around her, she’d heard the rumors as she came to Westeros. Most scoffed, but she was a northerner, she knew more hard truths than any southerner. She knew not to scoff at legends.

“Aye, it’s true, if you believe in these visions and dreams,” Clegane said skeptically.

“Is that why you’re with them then?” Arya asked turning towards him.

“Aye, some bastard killed my last friend – the Septon who found me and healed me after you left me for dead. I went to get revenge, but these bastards were already hanging them.”

She eyed him up and down, he was wearing Lem’s clothes and cloak. She remembered she’d never really liked Lem, he always had a vicious streak to him since the first time she’d seen him. She remembered she’d even broken his nose. Yet, the murdering of innocent villagers, that had seemed beneath him. He had been a brother of the Brotherhood. His mission had been to protect the common folk from the raging armies… But then again, she’d seen more beasts than men of late and knew what war could do to someone.

She turned to Beric and Thoros asking, “Lem decide to go rogue?”

“Aye, I’m not sure what did it, but he became more and more ferocious as the years passed.” Beric said.

“War makes monsters of us all,” Arya said. Then turning to look at Clegane she held compassion within her. He’d found a friend, someone to care for him, and give him a place in the world. And yet, they’d been taken from him. So she said, “Sorry about your friend. That explains how you met again, but not why you stayed.”

“Thoros showed me a vision in the flames – the dead march on the Wall. These idiots are heading north to stop that from happening… Seems like a war worth fighting in.”

She continued to appraise him, to look for the mean beast of a man that he’d been. But she saw only a man – and an honorable man at that as she appraised him, her face softened and she smiled. “Aye, it does, doesn’t it? Looks like we’ll be sharing the road again as it seems that I must go North as well… back to Winterfell.”

“My Lady,” Beric intoned, “It’s not as it was before, the war might be over but we march to Winter and the Wall. It won’t be safe, we can take you to Acorn Hall. I’m sure Lady Smallwood would be more than-”

“You really think you can just get rid of me? How well did that work out for you before Lord Beric? Or you Thoros? You think my wolves will allow it? Or I will?”

As if to highlight her point, Nymeria appeared suddenly, stepping out of the darkness and started growling at them. She approached slowly, snarling, with hackles raised. It wasn’t until Arya placed a hand on her that she eventually quieted and sat down between her and Clegane, resting her head upon Arya’s lap. Absentmindedly she pet her wolf and assessed the two men across from her.

Both men looked like they were going to argue more but she cut them off, “I’m going with you, or rather _you_ are going with me, under _my_ protection. I’m fucking going home, and there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

The men fell silent in contemplation, but Clegane’s face displayed his confusion. She knew before he spoke he would ask her about what the Ghost had first said of her. She wasn’t sure if he would judge her for it. She had always been fairly bloodthirsty with him, but she’d had few opportunities to act on her urges. Would he judge her? Him who’d been half a monster himself? She didn’t know why his opinion mattered to her, but suddenly it did. Of all her traveling companions who’d attempted to shield her from the world, he’d been the one to teach her _how_ to kill.

“Wolf-girl, what are you doing in the Riverlands? Where have you been all these years?” Clegane asked her seriously.

Beric and Thoros looked up, curious to hear. “Yes, My Lady, I am afraid we are interested as well, we’ve heard naught of you nor seen you in the flames.” Thoros said.

She looked at the two men across from her at the fire coolly, and then said, “Just taking names off my list.”

She could tell that Beric and Thoros didn’t know fully what that entailed, but to Clegane, who’d spent months with her, he knew. Clegane also knew the significance of those names on her list. And that was all the confirmation that he seemed to need.

“You killed all the Freys, didn’t you?” Clegane said. Beric and Thoros visibly stiffened but remained silent.

She looked up at him, with her cold, dead eyes. Her assassin eyes. The eyes she put on when she killed. “I did.” She said simply.

“How?”

She just shrugged grabbing the wineskin from his hands and taking a drink she gazed back into the fire. She didn’t want to see horror reflected there and hoped he would drop the matter. Except he wasn’t going to let her off that easily.

“I said how girl.” He repeated this time adding a threatening tone to his voice. Though she knew he wouldn’t be able to frighten her into telling him, but she felt compelled to nonetheless. She almost craved to see the approval she knew she’d find in his eyes.

“Honestly, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she said, but she held onto that cold look in her eyes.

“Tell us.”

She still wasn’t sure what she should say. She hadn’t really worked it out, could she be honest? She would be eventually with her family she knew, but these men… Sandor Clegane had her trust, he’d earned that years ago… but the Brotherhood? How would people see her now?

“Perhaps on the morrow,” was all she said as she got up, grabbed saddlebags from her horse and laid out in front of the fire.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1331 words – 16 May 2018. Edit 22 Aug 18. Edit 12 May 2019.
> 
> Let me know if you like it, or hate it, comments of any kind keep me writing. Thanks!
> 
> Spoilers for most recent ep of Season 8, 8x04: I don't know about you guys, but the show is really starting to piss me off in so many ways. Arya's obvious rejection of Gendry, the killing of Rhaegal. I'm devastated. And so angry, why did Daenerys have a say in where the dragon's go? Rhaegal is Jon's! Gah. Also... I think that D&D are doing a great disservice to the fans to make Cersei the long anticipated most awful finale bad guy when she's just a woman -- a monster yes, but just a lady, not like the Night King who was a 8,000 year old monster, who was literally death itself. I believe that the show would have been better if they'd dealt with Cersei first then the Night King. It's just so sad. And from now on, that's how I am going to write, pretending that the show isn't going the way it is.


	7. Sandor III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atop High Heart, after Arya and Ghost of High Heart’s conversation Arya goes to sleep, Sandor converses with Beric and Thoros.

**Sandor**

Sandor was sure that Arya wasn’t going to tell him, but he found that he desperately wanted to know House Frey’s fate. He’d been there at the Red Wedding, and had been horrified at their treachery and butchery. He’d seen the King in the North’s body himself. He wanted to know what she’d done. How much of a monster they and he had turned her into. For he knew that she would seek revenge, and that it would likely be a far greater form of vengeance than he’d be capable of. He knew it. He knew  _ that _ because he had seen it in her eyes. The night that her brother’s bannermen had burned, the Young Wolf had been murdered, and they’d seen her brother’s body trussed up and paraded around.

He watched Arya as she curled into her wolf and turned towards sleep. He’d wanted to get out the whole story and now, but perhaps it wasn’t quite the right time. He didn’t know where she’d been all these years, but clearly she didn’t trust them. She’d never trusted easily, of course, but he thought that eventually, after all the time they’d spent together that she’d trust him at least. He would just have to work at her slowly, he decided. He wanted to know. But no matter what she said, he felt unbelievably proud. 

He thought he’d had such a small impact on her life, but clearly, the lessons he’d instilled into her had kept her alive. He’d have to figure out a way to tell her, maybe in the morning.

He threw the wineskin to Beric, “Here, it’s not bloody hippocras, but it’s a good vintage.” Before grabbing his bedroll from behind him and laid it out near Arya’s on the other side of her wolf. 

He didn’t like the wolf’s eyes on him, he could tell the beast knew more than any beast should. As he lay down he almost felt that it was Arya watching him through those eyes. 

Then again, perhaps she was, if what Thoros said was true, then she was a skinchanger. 

“Here girl,” he said while he tentatively reached out a hand to the wolf lying next to him. Not sure what to expect, he’d been pleasantly surprised when the great beast nudged his hand and leaned into it. A noise between a growl and a whine escaped her mouth and Clegane felt himself smile a little. She was just like the hounds that his father had raised. They’d always liked him, because he’d always been kind to them. Using his hand to pet herself, she rolled away from Arya and slightly into him.

Sandor looked at the wolf once more, and then gazed at the girl before lying back, closing his eyes and letting sleep take a hold of him.

* * *

In the light of day, he was not sure how he had found sleep the night before. Because with the day came the light, and with it came respect for how many gods damned wolves that Arya had.

He’d tried to count them all, but they were constantly moving. He didn’t know how many followed them, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five? It made no matter, they were ever present, scaring the horses but deadly, silent and intimidating as they rode. 

They were handy too, she’d been able to navigate a path that led them away or towards foes, depending on who or what they were. They’d also managed to take down or scare out game for the men. 

About a week into their journey together she’d told them that they only had to crest the next hill to find their supper. He’d not believed her, but when they ascended, they found the remains of an escaped cattle herd. Two had been killed – quick snaps to the neck, but no more – the rest of the pack feasted on a few larger bulls. 

The direwolf, named Nymeria, was the same direwolf she’d had when they had travelled the Kingsroad all those years ago together with her father and King Robert’s entire retinue.

“How’d you keep her from getting killed?”

“I threw rocks at her with Mycah until she ran off. Now I know better, I could have just asked her to leave, but I didn’t understand our connection then.”

And that connection was fearsome, because he saw it each and everyday. She would only have to nod to her large wolf, and they would all go off, as if she’d issued a command to a regiment. Or she would tilt her head to the side, a strange light forming in her eyes, and she’d have news for them. Army movements, or brigands, or even more of the Brotherhood. It was fucking frightful.

Somehow Thoros and Beric had gotten out the word, and not a single wolf of hers were harmed as they approached other encampments or strongholds of the Brotherhood. The Brotherhood in equal parts scared and revered her connection and had been quick to refer to her as ‘The Wolf Queen.’

They had been about to leave such a stronghold when she reined up to him, flanking Thoros and Beric.

“You should take over The Twins.”

He glanced sideways, both Beric and Thoros had a look of utter surprise on their face.

“I’m serious, go and take it over, Lady Kitty is fierce, but strong. She survived living with Walder Frey for three years. She’d not been a fan of the Frey’s or Lannister’s, but her father had given her no choice. I’m sure she’d welcome you. Plus, she’ll likely need help holding her castle against the Lannisters.” 

“You think she’d kindly welcome the Brotherhood?”

“She has no love for the Frey’s believe me,” Arya responded.

Beric and Thoros conferred between themselves a few moments before calling ten men to their side. “Geryl, you have the command, go to the Lady Kitty Frey at the Twins, and offer her your services. Tell them that we’ll help her keep her castle and offer her your protection, but let her know it’s the Brotherhood you serve.”

“Here,” Arya had said, nodding to her pack. “Seven of my wolves will ride with you, tell her that ‘Now that winter has come, The North remembers.’ She won’t question you after that.”

Geryl who had looked more than pleased to have his own command balked a little after her declaration, fear clearly within his eyes. Seven wolves stepped slowly towards them, and it was obvious to Sandor that Geryl had been looking forward on escaping them and the peculiar Wolf Queen.

“If they howl it means form up and attack, if they slink away it means to retreat, and if they bark—best make sure you’re not within reach, because they’re bite is  _ far  _ worse. Know that if you do anything to harm them I’ll  _ know _ . Once you’ve secured your position I will recall them.” She’d told him darkly.

“Yes, My Lady.” He said in deference, very clearly frightened. Belatedly he nodded to Lord Beric, “My Lord.” And rode off with his ten men and seven wolves.

Sandor was curious as to how her skinchanging worked, and throughout the day after half their party had left, he grilled her.

“Where are they now?” He’d ask every few hours. 

He was surprised by the level of detail that he received over the next few days. “Near Fairmarket,” or “in a field,” “taking down a deer,” “taking down Lannister soldiers,” “eating a warren of rabbits,” “near Seaguard.”

Somehow these little updates reassured him that she was a skinchanger. It was clear that she was far more powerful than he’d ever understood and that she was someone to be protected. She’d always been strong, but this proved her own unique power—why the Stark’s had been Winter Kings for thousands of years. So he resolved to stick close to her and stay by her side as her sworn shield – despite not taking his oath, he would still protect her during the Long Night. 

It’d been days and days of this, while they’d been meandering mostly north and westwards collecting men of the Brotherhood on their way towards Riverrun and then onto the Wall. It’d been a week or more since they’d parted with Geryl’s company when she said, “They’ve made it within the castle walls, and have taken guest right.”

He eyed her warily as they all sat by the fire, “That mean anything to you?” 

“Not much, but I have eyes there. If they break guest right again, I’ll remove Lady Kitty as well.”

Beric and Thoros had been following their conversation, but it was clear to him that the Lady both surprised and scared them with her ways. Yet, despite their fear, they’d started to trust her. They used her to scout and deferred to her when it came to any decisions for them. He was proud of that, but grumbled as to why… He’d discovered that it was because he didn’t often feel pride. The few things he’d felt proud of in his life had eventually been unceremoniously taken from him. He grumbled even more when she mockingly called him ‘Father.’ But even that, he couldn’t begrudge her, mockery though it was. He’d never be a true father, one to raise sons or daughters, but if after all this time she had realized that he’d cared for her, and appreciated his protection, then who was he to argue?

“Send a rider to them, I’m recalling my seven, but they’re to hold the Twins until called upon for the Great War.”

It wasn’t until after the rider left, someone named Harfyn with one of their best horses and two guards at his back that he’d thought back to the Ghost of High Heart and what she’d said about Arya. She’d essentially named her murderer, ‘blood child’ and ‘dark heart.’ He was curious as to what those titles meant.

And so, he wasn’t sure what had prompted him that night, a few days from Riverrun, it was when he rolled out his bedroll near the fire and Nymeria—who had taken to sleeping near him—she was a warm and comforting weight throughout the night. He felt at ease in this newfound camaraderie, and perhaps that was why he’d asked. He’d hoped that she would be honest with him, “So are you going to tell us what happened with The Frey’s? Do we have your trust yet?” 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1735 words – 16 May 2018, edit 6 June 2019.
> 
> Sorry for the long break in between updates. I've been having computer issues, and work has been a mess! The season is really starting to pick up and it's been 10-12 hour days most every day. I'd say there won't be a huge gap in between this and the next chapter, but I actually haven't fleshed out the next character arc yet, but I promise to work on it as much as possible. 'Til then, let me know if you like it, or hate it, comments of any kind keep me writing. Thanks!


	8. Sandor IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor learns of how Arya killed all the Freys. Thoros knows that she has become an assassin. Sandor inquires about her past, and Thoros knows a bit too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Atop High Heart, after Arya and Ghost of High Heart’s conversation Arya goes to sleep, Sandor converses with Beric and Thoros. Next day they leave High Heart.

**Sandor**

Arya looked up at him and started speaking, and it wasn’t with her cold killer’s voice, but it was with a strange blank face with a voice that held a dark humor and happiness. It was a deadly combination and it shook him to the bone. She’d enjoyed it, reveled in it and subsequently thought fondly of it. It was somehow more jarring than her talking about killing Joffrey had been, or her reveling in killing the Lannister soldiers.

“I dressed up as a serving wench, and slipped in just when the Lannister army came to celebrate the reclaiming of Riverrun. It took me a while to place myself, and I couldn’t make a move with both armies there. So I bided my time and waited. I murdered Lame Lothar and Black Walder first once the Lannister army had left for the capital. I cooked them into a pie and served it to Walder. Just like with the Rat Cook of old, he asked for a second slice. When I served it to him, I showed him the fingers and toes within. The gig was up after that. So I told him who I was and slit his throat.”

“Fuck,” Clegane whispered. As she spoke shivers ran down his spine and his arms were pimpled in gooseflesh. He hadn’t been aware that Thoros and Beric were listening, but as he glanced away, slightly frightened of her actions he saw them. They were more than frightened, in fact they looked quite aghast at her story.

“If Walder and Lame Lothar and Black Walder were dead, how did you get rid of the rest of them?” Thoros asked.

She looked amused now, “I disguised myself as Walder and called all the men who were complicit in the Red Wedding back for a feast, where I poisoned all the wine. After raising my cup in toast, the rest of the house drank deep, and died.”

Clegane was doubtful, “No way you could disguise yourself as Walder Frey and be above suspicion.”

Arya just shrugged nonchalantly, “I studied with some mummers for a while, and I’m quite good at disguises.”

The silence that followed was palpable as the men digested this information and then a light shone within Thoros’ eyes, and he asked, “Were those mummers in Braavos by any chance?”

Clegane glanced between the two of them, somewhere long ago – he’d known that Arya had wanted to go to Braavos, but he’d never really sussed out why. But Thoros somehow had figured out her past. It irked him that this devout lout of a priest knew her better than he did.

“Aye, they were.”

Thoros visibly gulped. He looked even more terrified than when she appeared in the night on High Heart flanking them all with her bloody wolves.

“You know the true names of all here.” Thoros said.

Clegane didn’t follow.

“Aye, I do, and I wear my own face. You’re safe… for now.”

“And how long will that be for?”

“If the dead really march south, no one will be safe for long.” Then she turned towards her own bedroll and appeared to go to sleep.

Clegane couldn’t sleep though, and pulled out another wineskin to sit with Thoros and Beric by the fire.

“You know where she was and what she was doing don’t you?” Clegane asked him.

Thoros seemed to evaluate him, like he was trying to figure out how to tell him something drastic.

“Don’t you bloody lie to me you red bastard.”

“If I understand her correctly…” Thoros said, briefly looked at her sleeping form before glancing into the flames. But something in the flames held his attention and it was a while before he started speaking again.

“It’s as I thought,” Thoros mumbled.

“Well?” Clegane growled.

Thoros and Beric shared a knowing look and then Thoros turned to Clegane, his face grim.

“She trained for years with a group of assassins.”

“The fucking flames tell you that?”

“Yes, but also her actions. There is only one way that she killed an entire house with ‘mummery.’ She is or rather _was_ a Faceless Man.”

At that a chill went down his spine and he felt as if he were on fire again. Head pressed to the flames with his brother holding him down, the smell of cooking flesh and smoke filling his nose. Or when Beric had lit his arm on fire, and he desperately tried to get the shield off. He’d heard of the Faceless Men. They were a group of brutal assassins, who would kill for the right price. King Robert had wanted to use them to murder the last of the Targaryens, but the price had been too high for the pilfered realm. It was said they could change their faces, though he wasn’t sure if he knew that to be truth or a lie.

“She has a part to play in the war to come.” Beric said with a finality that put the matter to rest. Thoros nodded and they both returned to conversing about other things. Happier things. It almost seemed forced, as if they didn’t want to linger on the Army of the Dead or faceless assassins.

Clegane wasn’t sure what to believe. What he knew to be true about Arya was that she was someone who’d had everything taken from her, at a very young age. He saw so much of himself in her. He’d been forced to live with the family who’d brutalized him, and he’d been alone since he was about six or seven. Arya was on her own too and had been since she was nine.

It wasn’t just the ransom that he’d wanted to get for her that had caused him to take her. He’d seen the brutality of Joffrey, and the glimmer in the eyes of Cersei at the thought of having Arya whipped through the streets after she’d attacked the Prince. And he’d seen her anger – her hatred with him when he’d burned. But an innocent little girl didn’t belong with cutthroats and bandits. So he’d stolen her, and tried to sell her to her family. But he’d never quite managed to do that… and instead had taught her to kill with mercy. He supposed he was responsible now for who she’d turned out to be.

And yet, for all he tried to, he couldn’t find anger or even hatred or shame for what he’d done. Only a sense of pride that she had learned to carry on and survive. 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1086 words – 17 May 2018. Edit 15 Jun 2019.
> 
> Let me know if you like it, or hate it, comments of any kind keep me writing. Thanks!


	9. Sandor V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Brotherhood arrives outside of Stone Mill and near Riverrun -- Arya sends a messenger and then takes off towards Riverrun with a plan.

**Sandor**

The following week was rather morose – cold and slow going with the weather and frequent rains. The camp would brake quickly and saddle up, Arya commanding the men as she had been since she had joined them. She and Nymeria led the party, her wolves flanking their ranks. For days they traveled and it was sometime later when the sun was at its midpoint in the sky and their party crested a hill and a small town with a large mill came into view below them. Clegane followed a few paces behind her with Beric and Thoros flanking him. Just beyond that, Riverrun’s immense triangular castle could be seen in the distance with the proud Lannister lion and twin towers of Frey flying above its ramparts. As soon as the town came into view they guided their horses and men off the trail where they had been following the Red Fork River and settled their party within the redwood and elm trees, hiding their numbers from prying eyes.

“That’s Stonemill, your uncle Edmure battled hard against the Mountain for that little town,” Beric said dismounting.

“‘Course the Young Wolf didn’t take kindly to losing two hundred men for a fucking mill when the Mountain was still about. But then again, that was when the War of the Five Kings was going strong, My Lady.” Thoros said bowing his head and following Beric off to see to the men.

“The fuck we doing here? I thought you wanted to head to the Wall?” Clegane asked.

Arya just gave him an annoyed look. She stalked over to Beric and Thoros and nodded for Clegane to follow. Once assembled she began with her plan. “I plan to take this castle and quickly. You’re going to send a man to bring terms to whoever holds the castle. Tell them to surrender quickly and quietly. If they lay down their arms they’ll be allowed their lives and will be escorted to the Wall to join the Night’s Watch. If they don’t, if they refuse to give up the castle, tell them it will result in blood and death. They have three days.” 

“Who holds the castle then?” He asked. While he was proud of Arya as he scanned their numbers and the men milling about seeing that the horses were watered and rubbed down, he was apprehensive about their numbers. They would easily be outnumbered in open combat, and who knew how many of the Lannister army and defeated Frey army were left encamped in the castle. 

“Some distant Frey relatives who refused to come to my summons along with Lannister loyalists, and several men-at-arms I would expect.”

“Last we heard it was taken from your uncle, the Blackfish by Jaime Lannister and given to Emmon Frey and Genna Lannister, the new Lord and Lady of Riverrun.” Beric said.

Arya snorted at that.

“They’re not on your list. What do we care about a castle in the south?” He inquired.

“We will need their fighting men to battle the Army of the Dead, if such an army exists.” Arya said pointedly looking to Thoros, who nodded solemnly. She continued, “Not all of those men are Frey or Lannister soldiers. I’ve seen a castle taken, and I have no doubt that trout flounder amongst the lions.” She spun to face him and continued coldly, “And I will not spend another day with my family’s castle in an oathbreaker’s hands.” 

Beric and Thoros looked to each other and communicated in glances. Finally Beric nodded and motioned for one of the brothers to come forward whose name Clegane didn’t know. Arya repeated her terms and a white banner was found. The brother grabbed a horse and reined up proudly with the banner affixed to a pike. 

“What do I do if they refuse?” The brother asked, his voice only quivering a little. 

Arya’s face hardened, “Tell them they will receive what the Twins did, tell them that, ‘The North Remembers. Winter came for Walder Frey, it will come for _all_ of House Frey.’”

He nodded and rode off, the white banner streaming out majestically behind him. There goes a dead fool Clegane thought. Beric and Thoros broke away to speak with their men about her plan but he remained next to Arya.

He didn’t like it. 

“So what’s your real plan girl? At best they reject your terms, at worst they send back that cunt’s head. What then?”

“I’ll take the castle from them.”

He looked back and counted their party. They were a somewhat bedraggled bunch, but he estimated their numbers were around a hundred, plus however many wolves she commanded. They had been picking up men left and right on their journey since High Heart. More of the Brotherhood just seemed to sprout out of the ground like daisies. They came from as far south as the Stoney Sept and as far east as the Widow’s Ford. No matter where they went, more brothers followed. They were forming a strange sort of semi-army themselves. 

All the men had weapons, though he could not speak to their quality or competence in combat. Yet, he did not have any designs on who would win in a straight fight, their ragtag band versus castle-forged steel and hardened soldiers. He would bet on the high castle walls, the pitch and the arrows raining down on them over their small numbers any day, _if_ he were a betting man. 

“You really expect to take a castle with a hundred beaten down Brothers?”

“No, _I_ expect to take the castle, and I expect to let _you_ in to wipe the floor with whoever is left resisting.” 

Sandor furrowed his eyebrows at that. He didn’t understand her logic. 

“How the fuck are you going to manage that?”

“It’s easy, I just waltz in and play the fair maiden set upon by bandits.” At this she put a hand to her head and looked faint, fanning herself as if to ward off the vapors. She dramatically continued, “I’ll tell them horror stories, and besiege them to help me and bring justice to my foes as befits the lord of the castle looking out for his people.” She removed the hand and her helpless maiden look fell away, replaced with Arya’s cold countenance. “That’ll send the most loyal ones out into your waiting arms. Then I’ll dispatch the guards and I’ll send for you and my wolves. The Brotherhood’s men will make quick work of the castle. But I am no oathbreaker. Any who surrender will be allowed their life, their life spent at the Wall.” Arya grinned evilly and his heart jumped. 

My, she was wicked. It got his blood up, imagining killing those fuckers. But he knew he wasn’t going to like the wait, or the fact that they would have to separate. What if she ran into trouble and she was all alone? Despite the fact that he more than knew she could take care of herself. She had been alone these past three years for gods’ sake, however, he still didn’t want to let her go off on her own.

“You make it sound easy, but there is a lot that can go wrong with your plan.”

“You worry overmuch,” Arya said amused.

“You don’t worry enough. Seems to me it’s going to get you killed one of these days.”

“It hasn’t yet, _Father_. Tell me, are you really worried about your daughter?” Arya replied smiling and elbowing him in the ribs.

Clegane rolled his eyes and stalked off grumbling. Trust her to come up with some fool’s plan to rush in and get herself killed when he couldn’t do anything about it. Unwillingly the night of the Red Wedding came to mind and he thought about her eyes. Her cold grey eyes and all the horror they’d seen. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe that she’d killed the Freys, but it was still hard to swallow. Except he couldn’t deny that she’d accomplished it. The whole bloody countryside prattled on about it, the Winter Lady -- a ghost in truth who had successfully dethroned the vile oathbreakers. The story was repeated at every stop the Brotherhood made. If she really wanted this castle he truly believed she could orchestrate its inhabitants’ demise. 

He tried to believe that as he set himself to busywork, while the Brotherhood set camp and a rotation of guards. The rest of their men relaxed and prepared their weapons, laid out bedrolls and set snares for game. Food was becoming scarce since their numbers had been increasing, and they hadn’t been able to beg food anymore from the crofters they came across. Most riverlands folk were willing to provide them a single meal and a hearth for the night, but not many were able to feed a hundred hungry men. He looked at his saddlebags and inventoried his own small stock of food. 

Pulling out a dried oatcake and a salted fish he watched Arya out of the corner of his eye. Like the killer he had taught her to be, she surreptitiously cleaned and honed her sword and daggers with a whetstone. Nymeria curled up beside her with a black wolf and the beasts seemed content. Arya also seemed fine with the wait. Though for him, sitting down and doing nothing made him fidget and set his teeth on edge. He’d never liked the anticipation before a fight. 

It was a few hours before the Brother came back, Sandor was surprised that his head was still on his shoulders. Though, he looked almost as frightened as when he left to bring whatever news he had back to Arya.

Arya, Beric, Thoros and Sandor assembled to hear the news, several brothers also came forth to embrace the rider whose name turned out to be Orwyn. Orwyn was smiling despite himself and the news he brought. Perhaps he was just overjoyed that he was back amongst friends. 

“Who holds the castle?” Arya asked.

“Genna Lannister and Emmon Frey, tho’ the lady did mos’ o’ the talking.” Orwyn said. Then as an afterthought he bowed his head and said, “Milady.”

Arya waved her hand almost in dismissal and continued questioning him, “And how was my message received?”

“They didna receive it well, in fact the lord just laughed. He said that his men wilna leave the castle and we’d have to take it from ‘em. He also claimed there was no way that we have ‘nuff men to take it, so the lord didna see any harm in lettin’ me go back. He says it’s all a ruse, you see milady.”

“You said you were one of the Brotherhood?”

“I did, milady,” Orwyn said bowing his head again.

“How many men did you see?” Arya asked him.

“Only a few dozen or so milady.”

“Where were these men?”

“Five or so were at the main gate, I saw seven o’ more through the castle, tho’ twas shuffled around quite a bit meself. I mostly saw the empty inside o’ locked rooms and bars o’ the dungeon. They have a fair few men down there, milady.”

“Where? In the dungeons? ...They have prisoners?” Arya sounded confused. Clegane couldn’t blame her, who in the world could the Freys or Lannisters want to only _imprison_ and not murder in cold blood? And with winter fast approaching to boot? Something was amiss.

“Yes, milady.”

“Did you recognize them?”

“No, but I believe they are survivors from the Red Wedding.”

Clegane scoffed, “Highborn hostages.” Yet, he doubted that Arya would stop until she had determined who these hostages were. 

“Right…” She turned away from Orwyn in a clear dismissal. “Stay here and keep yourselves hidden. I’ll send out as many men as I can for you to ambush, but not enough so you’re overrun. In three days after sunset, the wolves will guide you inside. I hope to open the portcullis. But I keep my word, any that lay down their arms will be free to join the Night’s Watch. Make sure that you are ready and prepared to march in. I’ll need you to assist me, the battle will be over quickly if you don’t.” At this she strode purposefully away to her mount.

“Arya!” Sandor called after her, he didn’t like this, he didn’t like the plan, he didn’t like the impromptu nature of this ‘supposed’ attack.

Arya briskly walked away to her spotted mare and mounted, nodding to her wolves, who disappeared from sight with a tilt of her head. “The wolves will howl, that will be your signal.” Without another glance back, Arya galloped off towards Riverrun.

Sandor made to go after her, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Thoros looked up at him with an amused glance. 

“Don’t bother stopping her, there’s no use. I’ve seen her victory in the flames.”

“Is she alive in this _supposed_ victory?” Sandor asked angrily. He was getting rather annoyed with the minimal insights and glimpses the Lord of Light saw fit to reveal to the Brotherhood.

“Yes.”

“Have faith in the Lord,” Beric said with the faith of a true believer. His total conviction angered Clegane.

“I don’t have faith in any fucking Lord, they’re all backstabbing cunts.” Sandor said shrugging off Thoros’ arm and grumbling as he walked over to Stranger. Glancing at Arya’s retreating figure barely still visible to him through the trees he knew this was going to be a rather long three days.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2248 words. 12 May 2019. Edit 15 Jun 19. Edit 29 Aug 19.
> 
> Sorry about the absence! I swear I'm working on writing, but I have so little time lately. Job searching at the moment as my contract is going to expire soon. Plus, now I'm worried about Tropical Storm Dorian. My first hurricane! Let's hope it's not too scary.
> 
> Let me know if you like it, or hate it, comments of any kind keep me writing. Thanks!


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